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bead of sweat on her brow, wearing a silky vest top without a bra – she looks cool in every way imaginable. And then there’s me. I’m about half a foot shorter than Liz, and what I lack in height I make up for in curves, which means that I’m (quite literally) sweating my tits off in an industrial-strength bra under my T-shirt. My long blonde hair is naturally wavy – which is neither here nor there but takes a lot of effort to edge one way or the other – and any kind of weather, be it rain or shine, seems to make it frizz. My green eyes are rounded, like my cheeks
the woman writhing around on his lap) and almost everyone else in the room seems to be onboard with Liz’s idea too. Everyone apart from me and Priya, my work bestie. At least she always has my back. Priya tucks her sharp brown bob behind her ear – one of our secret signals for when we think everyone
